clashing heart

Anabiya stood frozen in front of the massive college gates, her heart pounding so loudly she was afraid someone might hear it. The golden letters above the entrance read “St. Xavier’s Institute of Technology”—the number one college in India, the dream of thousands, the pride of the city. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the strap of her black backpack, the familiar weight of her books grounding her. In her right hand, she clutched her favorite coffee glass—the one that had been with her through many sleepless nights. In her left, a small stress ball, the one she always squeezed when her nerves threatened to drown her. She took a deep breath. This is it. My new beginning. She wasn’t the same Anabiya who once trembled at every whisper, who swallowed her tears and never spoke for herself. No—this was her second chance. No one here knew her name, her story, or the shadows of her past. The past… A place she refused to visit. A city she once loved but now despised. A face that haunted her dreams—the boy who had acted like her savior but had slowly stolen her peace, piece by piece. She shook her head sharply. No. Not here. Not now. He can’t reach me here. No one will ever know. Anabiya adjusted her dupatta on her shoulder and took her first step inside. The campus buzzed with life. Laughter echoed in the air as groups of students huddled together, sharing jokes, snapping selfies, chasing each other like carefree children. Their happiness was contagious, and for the first time in years, a small, genuine smile touched her lips. But underneath that smile was a whisper of relief—relief that no one here recognized her. To them, she was a stranger, a blank page. And that was exactly how she wanted it. --- The corridors smelled of fresh paint and polished wood. Posters about cultural events, robotics clubs, and debate competitions decorated the walls. She held her head high, though inside her legs felt like jelly. You can do this, Anabiya. Be brave. For once, just be brave. She was lost in thought, eyes fixed on the paper slip in her hand—her classroom number—when it happened. Out of nowhere, a tall figure appeared in her path. She collided into him, her coffee spilling forward in one horrifying splash. The hot liquid spread across a crisp white shirt. “Oh my God—” she gasped, her heart dropping into her stomach. Her wide eyes met his. Eyes that were not just looking, but burning—dark, intense, sharp enough to cut through her breath. “I—I’m so sorry!” Anabiya stammered, fumbling in her bag for tissues. Her hands shook so much that she dropped the stress ball. The boy looked down at the brown stain spreading across his expensive shirt. His jaw tightened. His voice, when he spoke, was calm—but so sharp it made her flinch. “Sorry?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Do you think ‘sorry’ works like detergent? Do you even know the cost of this shirt?” She froze, blinking. Then, surprising herself, she asked softly, “How much?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her past self would have cried, apologized a hundred times, maybe even begged. But today, she didn’t want to bow down. His expression darkened. He leaned closer, invading her space until she could feel his breath brushing her skin. “How much?” he repeated, his voice low, mocking. “Ten lakhs. More than you’ll see in your lifetime.” A shiver ran down her spine. Her heart screamed at her to run, but her feet stayed rooted. She took a small step back, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly. Don’t let him see your fear. Don’t let him see you break. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She met his gaze. “If it’s that expensive,” she said quietly, “then maybe you shouldn’t wear it in crowded corridors.” For a second, his eyes widened—caught off guard by her audacity. Then a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. Not amusement, not admiration. Something darker. “You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he muttered, straightening. His friends, who had been watching from behind, chuckled. One of them whispered, “Looks like she’s got some fire.” Anabiya bent down to pick up her stress ball, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. She wanted to disappear. But as she turned to leave, his voice followed her, loud enough for everyone in the corridor to hear. “New girl, huh?” he drawled. “Let’s see how long that fire lasts.” Her steps faltered. The laughter of his group echoed behind her like a warning. She didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. But in her heart, a storm was rising—the storm of old scars, new beginnings, and the fire she had buried for too long. And though she didn’t know it yet, this was only the beginning of a story neither of them could walk away from. --- She had come here for peace. He had found a new challenge. And when fire meets silence… storms are born.